Page 104 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

I claw at the wall, body locking up around him.

“Wes—please—” I gasp, voice wrecked.

“Say it.”

“I—I need—”

His hand closes over my throat again.“Say. It.”

I break.

“I need your knot,” I groan. “Now.”

The noise he makes is fuckingferal.

“Good girl.”

And then he slams in deep—

And stays there.

My eyes fly open, mouth falling into a soundless scream as I feel his knot expanding, catching inside me,locking.

“Fuck—fuck—” I pant, clawing at anything, everything. “It’s—”

“I know,” he snarls, body pressed flush against mine now, pinning me completely. “You take it so fucking well. So tight around me. Fucking made to be filled.”

And Iamfull. Beyond full, even. His cock throbs deep inside me, locked in place, and I swear I can feel every twitch, every pulse, every drop of heat spilling into me.

My body shakes, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and still—I want more. Ialwayswant more of him.

His hand slides under my belly, between my thighs, fingers working my clit again, forcing pleasure through the ache.

“I can feel you milking it,” he rasps. “So greedy. So fucking good for me when you stop pretending.”

Tears slip down my cheeks—helpless, wrecked tears—and I lean back into him, too wrung out to fight it anymore, and too far gone to lie to either of us.

“Mine,” he breathes again, softer now. “Even when you hate me.”

And I hate how much Iloveit.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wes

Icarry Aimee to the couch, still locked inside her, her thighs trembling around my waist, her breath warm and shallow against my neck. She’s quiet now, soft in a way I haven’t seen in years except for the little shivers that ripple through her every time my knot shifts too deep.

I sit down slowly, guiding her onto my lap as we lean back together, still connected, still caught in it. The scent of slick and heat iseverywhere:clinging to her skin, to mine, to the fabric of the fucking couch. It’s dizzying and addictive, and I press my face into the crook of her shoulder and breathe her in.

I should be furious. Scratch that: Iamfurious. She’s spent weeks driving me to the edge, smiling through every taunt, crawling under my skin, and I hate how easily it comes back—the way she fits against me, the sound of her breath hitching, the way my body remembersexactlywhat to do.

I didn’t come here to fuck her, but in this enclosed space with her scent in my lungs and her heat still pulsing around me—

I don’t know why I thought I wouldn’t.

Eventually, I soften and ease out of her. I brush my hand along her thigh, thumb lingering at the curve of her hip, and I’m just about to say something—anything—when there’s a knock at the door.

“Shit,” she flinches. “I forgot. I ordered takeout.”

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